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Emizel regrets telling Soda to run as soon as he does it.
That's not quite right. He's glad Soda's safe, god fuckin' forbid he gets hurt on its watch, but... passing out, alone in an alleyway, moments after being turned into a vampire? Not exactly Emizel's idea of a fun night out.
He sits up unsteadily, vision slipping in and out of focus. God, his head hurts like a bitch . After a few deep breaths, it feels a little bit more like a person again, or whatever he is now. His senses are fuzzy and distant, but the blood coating the inside of its mouth registers in his brain, impossible to ignore. He runs his tongue along its teeth tentatively, welcoming the familiar tang of iron, before realizing something's different .
Emizel leans forward, catching his reflection in the pool of blood beneath him. It has this new iridescence to it, this depth to the color he's never seen before- maybe wasn't able to see. Emizel pulls the side of his mouth open, examining the sight with a catlike curiosity. Staring up at him through a slowly drying sheen of crimson, the jagged edges of his freshly grown fangs glint in a face that's supposed to be his. The eyes have turned from the familiar grey-blue-brown they've always been into slender, ruby slitted shapes, the gaze piercing through him. As it angles his head for a better look, the tip of an ear sticks out from the blonde, matted tangle of his hair, pointed and angled outward, an explanation for why even the slight dripping of the bite in his neck into the pool below seemed to echo. He's even paler now, too, skin sunken and sallow in all the wrong places. If he didn't know any better, he– Well, he'd say it looks like a corpse.
He lets out an exasperated sigh, coming out more like a growl through the blood in his mouth. Emizel swallows, trying to clear it, and– Oh. Oh, fuck . The haze enveloping his senses clears like a broken bottle, pain wracking through its body, beat out only by the hunger dripping down his throat. The vibrance of the blood beneath him wasn't exclusive, apparently, a new depth and dimension to the desolate corner of the city he's found himself in. The improved clarity to his vision is nothing compared to the taste, though. It's been out on these streets for years now, had to lick his wounds when the nights got dark, but this is something his body doesn't even know how to handle. He looks around like a wild animal, scanning the grimy street for something, anything to drink. Besides the garbage and cigarette butts littering the cracked pavement, all he has is a pool of its own blood, crusting over his boots. Man, it just stole those. As he cups his hands and scoops up what it can, clotting and thick between his fingers, a voice rings through the air.
"Emizel? Oh my god, Emi, is-- is that you, man?"
He jolts, nerves alight with adrenaline, splashing the blood all over itself. A familiar shape looms over him, silhouetted in shadows, approaching slowly. It has its hands outstretched as if Emizel is a dog, terrified and cornered, hackles drawn. He'd be more upset at the thought if it didn't ring so true, the fresh wound at his throat a collar, his thirst a leash.
"Soda? What the fuck are you doin' here?" Emizel attempts to wipe the blood off of his face halfheartedly, only managing to smear it everywhere. God, he hates that it's Soda who found him like this, cowering and vulnerable and monstrous.
"I told you to fucking run, man. I- You can't be here, I don't know what's happening to me." His voice cracks, ever so slightly, the way nobody but Soda would notice. Fuck. He's- he's pathetic . A low, angry sound boils in his chest, and he bows his head, not wanting to see Soda's expression.
Instead, a warm hand rests on his cheek, turning his face back to look at him. The worry in Soda's eyes burns worse than whatever it was he had expected. "Hey. Hey, It's me, Em. I've always got your back, right? You're going to be okay. Let's- let's get you back to the hideout, yeah? I'll take care of you." He's crouched down at Emi's level, holding his jaw like he's going to break if Soda isn't there to keep him together. At this point, he might. The slight tilt to Soda's head exposes the same stretch of his throat that Emizel had resisted however many hours ago, and it takes everything he has not to give in now, to bury its face into the crook of Soda's neck and feed.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Soda guides him to his feet. Emizel, for the first time in his life, is too tired to argue; Too tired to do anything but lean his weight against his best friend and let Soda guide him away. Soda slings an arm around his shoulder, Emi's fur lined coat slick with gore, and doesn't shut up the whole way home. Distantly, he registers being laid down gently on the creaky pull out couch he took from it's father's garage a few years back, the dim flickering lightbulb buzzing intermittently. The nervous babbling swells and then fades out as Emizel drifts to sleep, Soda's presence a comfort, the same it always is.
"...Are you gonna let me do something about that?"
Emizel hums groggily, half asleep. The afternoon sun pours in through the broken window, light catching the shards and refracting directly into his eyes. Great. "Somethin' about what?" At least now he has a good reason for waking up so late, he muses, with his circadian rhythm being flipped and all. Is there such a thing as vampire jet lag? Vamp lag?
It's pulled from his mental debate by the glare Soda is giving him. "The fuckin' bite, man. The bastard that got you didn't bother to close it." His hand is hovering over it, like he wants to touch it, but doesn't want to hurt Emizel. It's a wonder Emi hasn't bled all over him by now; The whole night, as Emizel drifted in and out of fitful sleep, Soda stayed by his side, limbs tangled together in a pile on the couch.
"...They c'n do that?" Emi pokes at Soda's ear, only half paying attention. "How d'you know, huh? Got something to tell me? Your ears aren't pointy enough to be a vampire."
Soda laughs, exasperated, but there's no malice behind his tone. Despite all of Emizel's new… features, their banter never changes. "I was a huge nerd as a kid. Always wanted to be one. Apparently, it's coming in handy for all of your crazy vampire shit."
Emizel snorts, bumping its shoulder against Soda's. "Dork."
"Shut up. lemme get a look at that."
Emi lets out a long, overly dramatic sigh, before rolling over and tilting its head away from the other, the wound fully exposed. For just a heartbeat, fear flickers deep in his gut, hardwired into his brain. Soda could kill him, and with a start, Emizel realizes he'd let him. Soda could plunge his fingers into the wound, pull the delicate tendons from its flesh, watch as they snap and lap up the blood like an animal- and Emizel wouldn't stop him. Distantly, he wonders if that's what love is.
Soda doesn't do any of that, though. instead, he lets out a pained little noise, as if he's the one who was bit. "Shit, man, I shouldn't have let you sleep on that."
"You didn't let me do anything, bitch."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now don't move."
Soda holds his cheek to the side ever so gently, his breath hot on Emizel's clavicle as he examines the puncture. Earlier, he hadn't thought it was that bad; it didn't hurt much in the moment, really, and– well, Emi didn't want to admit it and sound like a freak, but Soda seems to know enough about this whole thing to understand how good it felt. He's never been all that great with words, but Emizel doubts even the best fuckin' writer in the world could describe that- that euphoria, how it set every nerve alight like a live wire, electric and impossibly blissful. While he's lost in thought, Soda collects his supplies, quiet and determined. "Well, the good news is, you don't exactly have to worry about, like, bleeding out, 'cause you don't have blood anymore." Well, that explains why he's not covered in Emizel's blood. "I'm gonna bandage it anyways, in case it gets infected, but that's more for my comfort than yours."
Emizel doesn't have to look to know Soda's got that bashful little smile on, but it does anyways, just to see it. It watches as he works, wiping down the area with a care Emi's never seen before. Indulgently, he wonders if it's just for him. It's far from the first time they've done this little routine, but there's something to it this time. These stolen moments in the quiet of the night, these hours of respite between two broken kids made devils; It's a kindness neither of them know as well as they should. Now, there's physical evidence of Emizel's cruel nature, sticking out from between his lips, and yet it changes nothing. He could be a monster, wholly and truly, and Soda would still love him like it's his job. It's terrifying. Emizel loves it.
Soda finishes applying the gauze and lets his fingertips linger over the wound, touch ghosting over it like a kiss. He seems to hesitate, choking on the fondness bubbling up in his throat, before pulling himself together. "There. I know there's no way I can convince you to rest and let that heal, but try to be careful, yeah?"
Emizel just slings an arm around Soda and pulls him back down to the couch. It's not nearly big enough for the two of them, despite Emizel's short stature, but they make it work. (They always do.) He hits the cushion with an exhausted little laugh. "Whatever y'say, sodapop. Now shut up n' go to sleep. You didn't sleep last night either, so I've got an excuse." It curls up around Soda's chest, one arm squished beneath him and the other flopped across his shoulder, legs intertwined like some fucked up four-legged monster. Emi snorts at the thought, nuzzling closer into the crook of Soda's neck, eyelashes fluttering against the bottom of his jaw. "That fuckin' tickles, man. What's with you?" Soda tips his chin back, letting Emizel even closer, despite his apparent protests. He hums, half asleep and honest in a way that's almost alien. Soda's the only one who ever gets to see it like this. "C'n feel your blood better. Stop wigglin' around so much, asshole."
Soda tries to quip back, but he's breathless. "...You can feel my blood ? What the fuck, Em?"
He sighs, still pressed into Soda like he's trying to disappear, and Soda can tell he's rolling his eyes without so much as a glance. "'S weird. I can… hear it, kinda. Your pulse is so loud, and–" He takes a heavy breath, the way he does after a long drag of a joint. "It's almost like I can taste it. Fuck, man, it's like– I wish you could feel what I do. It's like I'm starving and it helps, being close to you, but it's also so much worse."
Soda blanks, staring up at the water damaged ceiling like it'll tell him what to say. "We can get something to eat tomorrow. Or, tonight, I guess. Just- just try to get some sleep, yeah?"
Emizel takes another deep breath in response, the last dregs of tension draining from his body. He drifts off like that, lulled to sleep by the gentle thrumming of Soda's blood.
(Soda wakes up with drool all over his neck. Gross.)
3.
"Are you sure they're this way? I don't smell anything."
"Well, yeah, dumbass, you're not a vampire. Just trust me, man, I've got this," Emizel grins over his shoulder, perched up on the fire escape of a decrepit little building. They're deep into Fang territory now, characterized by single story buildings of broken concrete, each one covered in layers of spray paint. Some Demons went out on a border patrol hours ago and never returned, so now Soda's following Emizel to a death sentence. Great. Just as it's about to voice his complaints, though, Emizel holds up a hand, silencing him.
Quick as a switchblade, Emizel looks up, a fresh glint to his eyes. Emi's ears flick, angled towards the sound, a muffled scream. Silently, he stalks towards the edge of the roof, gaze locking onto the sight below. There's a Demons member in a chokehold by a Fang, who's twirling a knife in their other hand. Both of them are smeared with blood, and Emizel can smell it, stronger and stronger till he can't take it anymore. He hops up onto the ledge of the building, fingernails scraping the concrete, and then just fucking jumps . Soda stares blankly for a moment, then sighs, and climbs down after him. God, this boy is going to be the death of him.
The Fang looks up, eyes widening at the sight of Emizel. They start to scramble backwards, letting go of their prey, but it's too late. Emi is on top of them in an instant, armed with nothing but tooth & nail, and it's all Soda can do not to stare. Instead, he busies itself with taking care of his fellow Demon, helping them to their feet and ushering them to run.
Emizel was never a graceful fighter, but there's an electricity to it now, a desperation, a hunger . He's tackled the fang like an animal, nails carving through their stupid fuckin' jacket and leaving rivulets of blood in his wake. The two of them hit the ground as one, and they don't even have time to scream. Emizel sets his boot on their ribs, the tip of his heel digging into their sternum, and his hands wrap around their throat. It's a clear mimicry of the asshole that sired him, and he leans in close, noses nearly touching. He takes in every detail of this fucker's face- the crooked nose, clearly broken and never set back in place, the thin rings of blue around pupils dilated in fear beginning to glaze over. Something inside of Emizel snaps like a rib, a vile fury pouring out through his fingertips, knuckles white over their adam's apple. It's a slow, torturous process, something so distinctly unfamiliar it's almost concerning, until soda catches a glimpse of his expression.
He's smiling .
He's not just killing them to kill them, intent on the prize like it has been in the past– no, he's playing with his food, reveling in the light draining from eyes that look just like his used to. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, as if the world itself waits with bated breath, he pulls his hands off of their throat and sinks its teeth in. It's open-mouthed and messy, blood gushing out from the wound profusely, hot and rich. There's so much, and there's a primal instinct deep in Soda's gut to fucking run, that Emizel's a threat, because god knows he is– but that bone deep terror builds until it floods through him as desire. Whatever wires are crossed up in his head pull him towards Emizel like a lamb to the slaughter, until he's kneeling in the puddle of some stranger's blood and brushing Emi's hair out of his face as he feeds. His hands are uncannily steady, despite his jackrabbit pulse, and for a moment, Emizel's gaze flicks upwards, hazy with bloodlust. Soda- Soda feels like prey, and it's the most addictive thing in the world. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that his best friend would never lay a finger on him, despite how much he hungers for it.
Eventually, the torrent of blood slows to an unsteady stream, and Emizel pulls away from the body, his chest heaving and the front of his shirt streaked with blood. As if in a trance, he lifts his head, beads of ruby dripping from its lips. Hesitantly, Soda holds out his hand, unsure of what it is he's reaching for. Emizel focuses in on the sanguine color painted across his knuckles and leans forward, lips parted to reveal the slightest hint of shark tooth fangs. In this haze of hunger, he takes Soda's fingers into his mouth, teeth barely grazing over the prominent veins that spiderweb across his calloused knuckles. Soda comes back to its body in that moment, jolting away from Emizel, landing hard on the pavement. He's panting hard, pupils blown so large and so human beneath Emizel's gaze.
"Em? Are you okay?"
Despite it all, Emizel is his. His best friend, his partner in crime, his never-ending obsession– whatever name you'd wanna call it. He could have a knife to Soda's throat, and all Soda would ask is if it's sharp enough.
(He knows there's a word for it, this devotion. It scares him more than anything.)
+1.
Look, Soda's not an expert on vampirism, but he's pretty sure something's not quite right.
It's been two days since Emizel was turned, and he's left a trail of bodies in its wake. He's not sure how much blood a newborn vampire needs, but seven people over the span of those forty-eight hours? It's a little excessive, in his humble opinion.
Even though Emi's fed so much, his hunger never seems to be satiated; in Soda's eyes, it's gotten worse, if the way he's breaking into a house before the sun's even fully down means anything. It's not the first time they've followed a Fang home, but it's sure as hell their first time crawling through a second story window.
"Em, if you can't get through the fuckin' thing, then let me try instead of breaking my goddamn back."
"I'd have it open already if you weren't moving so much, asshole! Just give me a second, I've got this."
"You clearly haven't got this."
"Shut the fuck up. Hey, shit, the lock's coming loose, hold on," Emizel hisses, before tumbling through the open window like a garbage bag of La Croix.
Soda snorts a laugh. "You fell like a garbage bag of La Croix."
"Soda, please. We're trying to kill someone here."
He grumbles as he rises to his feet, back aching from Emizel standing on him for so long, before taking Emizel's hand and clambering through the opening.
As soon as they're inside, though, the levity of the situation dissipates into the night air. Emizel's not scared, obviously, he's just– not exactly an expert here. It's alright. He’s always learned on his feet. Silently, the two of them slink through the house until they reach the stairs up to the attic, where a sleeping body awaits them. Soda falls behind the other, allowing it to scope out the room and hunt however it is he likes. It’s a bit of a cheap kill, if Emizel is being honest, but live prey is exhausting, and he’s starving. Soda sticks close by, circling around to the other side of the bed to watch. Emi’s eyes flick towards him for half a second, soaking up the attention, before he pounces.
This time, he’s patient. It makes a show of it; latching onto his wrist first as a tease, before slowly traveling up to his shoulder, leaving each bite open and weeping until the room fills with the scent of iron. Soda can only imagine what it's like for Emizel, so wholly enveloped in that taste. Eventually, it overpowers him, and he sinks his teeth into the human's throat, ripping into his trachea in its haste. This time, he's left the man alive while he feeds, albeit asleep, and it's fucking horrifying. He twitches ever so slightly, eyelids fluttering, as if in a dream. Considering he's about to die, more likely a nightmare. Soda would laugh at the thought if he wasn't entranced by Emizel pinning down the man's hands to the bed, sprawled atop him like a lover.
Moonlight streams through the open window, illuminating the white sheets painted red with a fetid sheen. Emizel pulls away from his victim with a gasp, coming up for air like he's drowning. Each time Soda's watched him feed, he looks like lightning in the afterglow, intoxicated and powerful. This time is no different– It looks fucking elated, crazed with hunger, teeth stained red when he opens his mouth to speak.
"There's gotta be other people in this house, right? Just waiting there for me."
Soda stands from where he was watching, leaned against the end of the bed. "Em, they aren't Fangs. That's our rule, yeah? If you're still hungry, we can look for another house, or– Hey, I can cause a scene in their territory, if you want, as long as you're there to help me."
Two ruby slits flick up to stare at him from the darkness. "You don't fuckin' get it. I can feel them, they're– It's all around me. They won't even know they're dying." Emizel straightens up, stalking towards Soda where he's placed himself in front of the door. "Come on, sodapop. It's not enough. There's two more meals just waitin' for me in this house, man, I need– I need just a little more. Just fuckin' let me out."
Soda shoves his shoulder, a half-hearted attempt to get it away from him, but there's no force behind it. "Snap out of it, man. If you're so thirsty, I'm right goddamn here."
The air goes still.
The confession is out in the open now. It's not like Emizel couldn't tell, doesn't want to, ever since he was turned. Soda's obsession with it was obvious from the very moment he hesitated to turn and run, both of them dancing around saying it outright. It's familiar, this routine, a desire unnamed and flickering. Now, it's taken a tangible form, but what it means– what Soda wants– hasn't changed. He shrinks, now, under Emizel's gaze, the barest part of himself scrutinized.
The silence hangs heavy for a beat, then another, until Emizel lunges forward. Soda tilts his head back, where Emizel runs a finger over his jugular, watching as tiny pearls of blood form, before looking up to meet Soda's eyes. Soda can't exactly get a word out, the slow build of want that he's lived with ever since they met finally pouring through him with a fervor. All he can do is give a nearly imperceptible nod and hope that Emizel can see the desperation in his expression.
Slowly, so slowly, Emizel lets go of the leash he's had around his own throat, fangs piercing Soda's skin. He slings his other arm around Soda's shoulder, pressing as close to him as it can get, and Emizel feeds .